


tuesday; music

by fightingtheblankpage



Series: Allydia Week [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:51:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightingtheblankpage/pseuds/fightingtheblankpage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of a road-trip fic inspired by my favourite song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tuesday; music

**Author's Note:**

> To be read while listening to "Kashmire" by Led Zeppelin.  
> Written as a part of the Allydia Week challenge.

It’s five in the morning and Allison is asleep.

Of _course_ she’s asleep. All the sane people are, and maybe Allison was kind of touch and go there for a moment, but now she’s definitely on the right track to recovery. Maybe she hopes she could sleep through the entire summer holidays, but she’s sure many teenagers share the sentiment. Sane ones, too.

It’s five in the morning and Allison gets woken up by insistent knocking on the door.

She groans and pulls a pillow over her head. She’s a very light sleeper, so she hopes her Dad will take the door and she will be able to go back to sleep.

The knocking stops, and Allison lets out a sigh of relief. She closes her eyes again, trying to remember her dream. It was a good, warm one, full of light. She doesn’t get many of those lately. Her sheets seem to still smell of it, as if it’s lingering against her skin and the cotton.

The knocking is back, but this time it’s against her bedroom door, not the one leading to the house. Allison cracks one eye open and croaks out something to suggest that she’s awake, possibly a barely-coherent rendition of ‘the hell?’. She may be a light sleeper, but that doesn’t make her cheerful and bright first thing in the morning.

Her Dad walks into the bedroom. He has a small, somewhat secretive smile on his lips, and Allison is confused. “What is it, Dad?” she asks, trying to convey unspoken ‘It better be important, for both our sakes’.

“Your friend is here. Lydia? She’s here to pick you up.” He doesn’t seem angry at the fact that it’s five in the morning and _Lydia is here_ , just‒ hopeful. Allison realizes that it must be hard on her Dad, watching her _not_ leave her room every day. When she gets out of bed, she’s pushed more by the guilt than by any sort of curiosity.

She pads down the corridor and then downstairs, the carpets scratchy against her bare feet. Lydia is waiting for her in the kitchen, puttering around and making coffee like she owns the place. She’s wide-eyed and awake in that highly medicated sort of way that Stiles sometimes radiates.

“Good morning!” Lydia says cheerfully. “You look grumpy.” She notes it in a fond way that Allison hasn’t heard in weeks, maybe months.

“What are you doing here, Lydia?” Allison asks. She slides into a kitchen chair, and Lydia puts a mug of coffee in front of her. It smells _good_ , and Allison isn’t sure if she’s surprised – Lydia doesn’t seem like the kind of person to know where the kitchen even is in her own house – or not – Lydia is perfect at everything she does.

“Spiriting you away,” Lydia says, also sitting down. “With your Dad’s blessing, so don’t worry. I’ve decided that after the year we’ve had, we deserve a normal, all-American summer. I’ve watched every flick on the topic – for research purposes – and we’re doing a road movie. Not _filming_ it, just recreating. Again, with your Dad’s blessing.” She seems to think it’s important to stress this point.

“You want me to drive across America with you?” Allison asks. Just to make sure – it’s not like any idea of Lydia’s comes as a surprise at this point. “And my Dad knows about it?”

“Yes, and yes. Eat your breakfast, pack your bags, my car is outside.”

“Whoa, wait!” Allison waves her hands in the air. “Wait. How am I supposed to just‒”

“Leave your glamorous life of not changing out of your pyjamas for days and not showing your face anywhere you think you can run into Scott and his merry band for a few weeks? Gee, Allison, that’s a hard one.” Lydia rolls her eyes. “We’re outcasts now, in case you haven’t noticed. Outcasts do road movies. Now hurry up!”

Allison thinks that maybe the town’s gossip is true and Lydia is a bit insane, but what does it make Allison, who agrees to go with her?

***

From the way all the roads they choose look like they come from a horror about an axe-wielding murderer every time they drive at night, Allison would guess that Lydia is wandering blindly. But from time to time Lydia checks something on the car’s GPS, or mumbles to herself, or asks pointed questions at people in gas stations, and Allison suspects that Lydia has probably planned it to be like this.

And she’s right, because one day, when they are listening to the local radio stations, which sucks _oh so bad_ , Lydia says out of the blue, “Isn’t it nice? Like we’re the last two people on Earth.”

“So the Apocalypse is what we consider nice now, huh?”

“I meant it in a more You And Me, And No One Else sort of way,” Lydia says.

All Allison can say to that is a soft ‘oh’.

***

Allison has seen a few road movies in her life. She usually doesn’t pay them much attention, because she’s the action flicks kind of person – well, maybe less so as of late, because her life has seen enough action in the _bad_ sense of the word – but from what she’s seen, they are doing a few things sort of wrong.

First of all, they haven’t stolen anything, which seems to be a must. When she tells it to Lydia, Lydia rolls her eyes and shoplifts a pack of candy, which they then proceed to eat sitting in the car, with Allison feeding Lydia, because Lydia suddenly ‘needs both hands to drive’. Her car is an automat, and the road is so straight it’s ridiculous.

Second of all, they haven’t spent a single night in a sleazy motel. This also seems like a must, along with sleeping in the car, and waking up with an annoying pain in your neck that gets worse every time you try to look left. When Allison tells it to Lydia, Lydia rolls her eyes, taps her fingertip against her credit card, and says, “Oh _please_.”

***

It takes Allison some time to catch up to that, but Lydia does have a plan. She’s strung and on edge the whole time, and she never lets Allison drive. She doesn’t drive in a straight line, either, from point A to town B, but the key behind her meandering is a mystery. They certainly aren’t doing any sightseeing, and Allison is yet to see even a single road attraction.

Lydia slows down only once they reach the desert. Why, Allison doesn’t know. But she notices Lydia relaxing, breathing a little deeper. They drive under the too-blue sky, the kind that makes your eyes water, and then under the full moon – and it means nothing that the moon is full, there are no wolves howling – and finally, when the sun rises and Allison starts to worry about Lydia refusing to sleep, Lydia pulls over.

She gets out of the car, and Allison follows her. She tugs at Allison’s hand, pulls her into the shrubbery by the side of the road, unmindful of her shoes which, Allison can bet, are _expensive_. Lydia’s eyes are a bit red, but apart from that, she looks tranquil.

“Okay,” Lydia says. “Okay, can you imagine something for me?”

“Sure, I guess.” Allison feels uncertain, but now Lydia is holding both her hands in her small, soft ones. Unmarked by calluses from handling a bow.

“Imagine that Beacon Hills has fallen into an enormous crater, pretty much like in the last episode of _Buffy_.”

“I knew it, Lydia,” Allison laughs. “You’re a closet nerd. I know someone who will be thrilled.”

But Lydia looks serious, and so Allison closes her eyes and imagines just this. Just the desert, and Lydia, and their car parked some few feet away, the engine hot in the already warming morning air.

No Beacon Hills. No werewolves. No weird stares, and no secrets. No Argent family tradition to uphold, and no ghosts in her house. It’s odd, this detached feeling she gets from thinking about it, but also relieving. She starts smiling, but before her lips curl all the way, there’s Lydia mouth pressing to hers, and _this_ could be all there is in the world.

“Okay,” Lydia says softly when she pulls away.

“Yeah,” Allison nods, and then, “We’ll have to go back at some point. You know that.”

“We don’t,” Lydia insists. “We could call your Dad that we want to stay for another week, and then another, and we could get old on this road.”

Allison sighs. Lydia looks open and vulnerable, and Allison hates herself for crushing her in a moment like this. It’s clear Lydia has been trying to get them here for a long time. “This road ends at some point.”

Lydia looks away, away from Allison, and to the thin stripe of the horizon. Her hair is aflame in the first light of the day. “What if I told you it doesn’t?” she asks quietly.


End file.
